Like A Prayer
by Xian Chan
Summary: Ryan finds that the afterlife isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be, especially since landing an unwanted job watching over Troy Bolton. Slash. TroyRyan. Tryan.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** Inspired by many cheesy movies from the 80's and 90's. Hopefully this will be a little better.

**Disclaimer:** For this, and all of the chapters to follow in this story; I do not own High School Musical, for if I did, I would not be writing this wonderful fanfic.

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**Like A Prayer**

**By Xian Chan**

**Prologue**

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When he looks back on his life, he sees nothing that could even raise an amused eyebrow. It was dull, uneventful, and definitely not worth bragging about. Ryan Evans could say he never had a life. If you call following your twin sister around and doing whatever she said a life, maybe there was a small glimmer of movement in his otherwise stagnant existence.

No he wasn't ever depressed. Yes his parents loved him very much. No his sister didn't always treat him like some goddamn poodle. Yes, he was fucking bored. How else could he describe the feeling that welled up inside every time he thought of his life thus far. The one word summed it up quite neat and nicely. Bored. If he said it enough times even the droning monotone of it was more exciting than most things he felt.

So this is why Ryan would sneak out of his overly sized house every night and go to the park. He would lay under the tree near the small lake. He would look up at the stars and reevaluate every bit of his life, to see where he went wrong. Why there was never any spark. Ryan would sometimes cry to the heavens, asking for an answer. Why the hell was his life so fucking boring?! And one night, the heavens deemed it fit to answer. Not in the form Ryan expected though.

In hindsight, it was a bit daft of him to be looking straight on and not see the burning light heading right for him. Any other person would see it. Who could blame him though? He wasn't wearing his contacts at the time and a small fire burning in the sky that wasn't a star, and was coming for him wasn't _exactly_ expected, so wasn't _exactly_ the first thing he was looking for.

Ryan didn't remember any pain.

He just remembered everything being extremely quick. But the moment right before it happened felt like an eternity. His life flashed before his eyes and he felt like he was looking into the abyss. And there was one particular word that stuck in his mind as being the last one to ever enter his head.

'_Fuck.'_

And then it hit him. Going a little more than four hundred miles per hour. About the size of a small car, perhaps of the Mini Cooper type, was the meteor that had chipped away from an asteroid hundreds of year before Ryan was even thought of, and had traveled all the way from the outer asteroid belt of the solar system to briefly orbit around the moon losing some of it's mass, and then shooting for earth, in which it targeted a lone boy sitting in a shitty little park in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Life's a bitch; and then you die.

When looking back on what was probably the most exciting thing to ever happen to him, Ryan Evans realized that he had to die before he could start living. Well, technically "Afterliving", as some liked to call it. Still, the irony always made him seethe whenever he thought about it.

His name was Ryan Evans.

He died with dignity, poise, and boredom.

He lived on after death.

This is his story.


	2. All Apologies

**Author's Note: **I know this idea is pretty far-fetched in this fandom. But I couldn't help but notice that there wasn't enough variety in the fandom. It's unbeta'd, so feel free to point out any mistakes

It's also relatively short for what I normally write in a chaptered fic, but it's just the beginning. Anyway, enjoy!

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**Chapter One:** All Apologies . . .

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_All apologies . . ._

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"_Next!"_

Time had seemed to stand still and rush forward all at once. Every breath Ryan took as he stood there in the blinding whiteness felt like eternity. Yet somehow, it was only five minutes that had probably passed. He couldn't tell anymore. It didn't really matter. The only thing that mattered was the line he was standing in. A line that wasn't moving. The person in front of him was a man in a brown suit and slicked back hair. And the woman before him was in a party dress. And before her, was a child. Before him, the line extending beyond his sight.

"_Next!"_

Ryan wondered what they were being called for. It felt like waiting in line at the bank, or post-office or something. You were neither here, nor there. You couldn't stand the _waiting,_ but had made too much of an effort to get there. It was utterly agitating.

"_Next!"_

The blonde was curious. Where did this line lead to? Why were there so many people wait in it? Who kept calling 'next'? Was this where he got judged? He remembered something in the Bible about there being a saint at the gates of Heaven who read out your whole sinful life and decided whether or not you were suited for eternal paradise. He couldn't recall exactly, as he hardly ever even touched a Bible. He had money; he didn't need religion. Or at least, he _used_ to have money. Ryan looked at his silver Rolex. The hands just kept spinning around. It was probably broken.

"_Next!"_

Besides, there were no pearly gates to be seen anywhere, so it couldn't be Heaven he was standing in.

"That means you kid."

Ryan looked up from his watch. He wasn't in line anymore as it had disappeared. Now he was standing in front of a man sitting behind a desk. The man looked a bit odd, slightly out of sorts, maybe even frustrated. Ryan couldn't tell how old he was, but he looked in his late twenties. He was attractive, with bright blue eyes and dark, wavy brown hair.

"Me?"

"Yes you. Who else is standing in front of me," the man said, looking at Ryan with a flat expression, as if the life had been squeezed out of him. He gestured to the comfortable looking chair in front of the desk. "Sit. We have a lot to go through."

The blonde did as told. "Where exactly am I?"

"Everywhere," the man said patiently, "and no where."

"Excuse me?"

The man had sighed, rubbing his temples. Ryan could tell he got that question a lot. "Welcome to the Collective Consciousness of the Universe, C.C.U. for short," the man spoke as he picked up a fountain pen and began sifting through papers on his desk. "I'm Alex, your case worker."

"Case worker," Ryan repeated slowly, unsure if he understood what anything meant anymore. "Am I dead?"

"Yes, and no," Alex responded lightly, writing something down. "Here at the C.C.U. we don't like to refer to it as dying. It's more like . . . transformation." Alex put down the pen and turned his eyes back to Ryan, gazing at him intently.

"So I'm not in Heaven?"

"Is that where you want to go?"

Ryan wasn't sure he liked this man asking all the questions. After all, he wasn't the one who had just died by meteor strike. "No, I'm not Christian."

"No of course not. Not many people are these days. We tend to get a lot of Buddhists, and New Agers ever since the sixties. A lot of neo-pagans as well."

Was it Ryan, or was everything Alex was saying not making any sense? So yes, it wasn't Heaven. It was the Collecting Conscious of University or whatever. Alex was still giving Ryan a discerning look, like he could see right through the boy. It was a bit unnerving.

"Ryan Evans, seventeen years old, date of death: July twenty-ninth. Cause of death: meteor, has a twin sibling: Sharpay Evans. Both parents are still alive, and still together. Both sets of grandparents, have been officially passed–"

"Passed?"

"They were passed on into their afterlives already."

"Oh."

Alex continued, "No religious affiliation though you are not an atheist." His blue eyes met Ryan's for a confirmation, or rather an explanation.

"I just have faith," Ryan said. "Why, does it matter?"

Alex smiled at him, finally. It wasn't a broad smile, or bright. It was small and subtle. Maybe a bit cheeky, like he knew something that Ryan didn't. That was probably the case. "Respectively, it decides . . . or rather, confirms your fate for the next few years."

"Few years," Ryan said with an incredulous edge in his voice.

"Or decades, or hundreds of year, or millennia, or eternity. I don't know, that part is always a bit dodgy."

The words came out of his mouth before Ryan could stop them, "What was your religion?"

The blue-eyes man looked a bit taken aback. No one had ever really asked him that question before. Well, only one person but he wanted to push that memory as far back in his mind as he could. Doubtfully, it would probably take a few more decades. "I'm an atheist."

An atheist? "I thought atheists–"

"Kid, how do you think I got stuck working here," said Alex tiredly. "I have no afterlife. The Buddhists get to go back to living with the Hindus. The pagans have so many different afterlives I can't keep count, the Christians are living it up for eternity while I'm here. With no friends, a cramping hand, and an infinite job sorting out other peoples' deaths. It's not exactly what I would call an afterlife. So bear with me."

Ryan kept silent after that. His problems seemed a little less urgent after that rant. At least he could choose where to go. This guy was stuck doing this for an indefinite amount of time. "Sorry," Ryan apologized quietly.

"That's alright, kid. I'm just tired. They don't really give us breaks, or coffee."

"They?"

"I'm not even going to get into that right now," Alex laughed as he went back to sifting through what Ryan assumed was his own file. "Now, for your assignment," the man combed his fingers through his hair. "You get the pleasure of watching over someone else for the next lifetime."

If Ryan wasn't mistaken, there was a hint of sarcasm in Alex's voice. "A guardian angel?"

"In no certain terms, yes." Alex began writing in a separate file, looking from one paper to the next. "Well isn't that interesting."

"What?" Ryan leaned over the desk to try and get a look at the file that Alex was looking through and writing in. The man closed the file, folding his hand over it and looked at Ryan. He was smiling again.

"Unfortunately, your charge's guardian was transferred with no notice. We'll have to send you down post-haste, without the training. On behalf of the C.C.U. I'd like to apologize for this, and wish you good luck."

"Apologize for what?"

"Goodbye Ryan Evans," Alex waved.

Before another word could escape Ryan's mouth, everything disappeared. He was falling through the dark. He fell for so long; immeasurably long. Even the dread that had settled in his stomach the second he was dropped had gone. Ryan turned around, looking ahead and seeing nothing but black. He knew he was still falling though. Which way he couldn't tell.

It could have been down, but then again it was pitch black all around him and he could be falling upwards. Was there even an up or down anymore? And then Ryan felt everything around him burst. He wasn't falling. He was flying, fast. He was flying past burning hot stars and planets that were an assortment of colors, and galaxies with every kind of shape imaginable. It wasn't until he saw one particular galaxy that Ryan knew where he was headed.

He remembered pictures of it in science class. The spiral galaxy they liked to call home. Ryan reached out his arms, smiling. It was the greatest feeling he had ever known, to fly by the whole of existence without a care. Ryan recognized the small sun with nine planets circling it. Eight, he corrected himself. Apparently Pluto was demoted some months ago.

He passed Neptune, Uranus, then Saturn, as well as Jupiter, and then Mars. Ryan was shooting for Earth. Suddenly heading for earth at such a wonderfully high speed didn't seem ideal. Ryan panicked. How was he supposed to stop?! He flailed about trying to slow himself down but not knowng how. He was coming close to the atmosphere now, and if memory served correct, he would burn up like a shooting star.

The fire didn't even touch him. He fell through the sky surrounded by raging heat and flames trailing behind him, but he didn't even flush. It would have been reassuring had he not been falling fast toward the ground.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," Ryan kept chanting.

The ground was getting closer. He closed his eyes for fear of seeing himself die, again. There was no crash, and no crunch of bones as they hit the hard floor. In fact, Ryan didn't even feel the dropping of his stomach anymore. There was only silence. Silence and the sound of deep, even breathing. Ryan opened his eyes and they adjusted to the darkness. He was in someone's house at night. He could tell that much. And he was laying next to someone's bed.

Ryan turned his head to the right and saw a window letting in the faint moonlight. The blonde laid there for a few minutes, trying to absorb everything that had happened to him. He couldn't exactly believe it. Maybe he had been dreaming, and this was a friend's house he was sleeping over, and quite possibly, pigs could fly.

He sat up, finding himself still intact. Looking to his right, Ryan saw the back of the sleeping person. It was probably a boy because whoever it was, was sleeping without a shirt, and their back was a little too defined to be a girl's. The boy had brown hair that was slightly ruffled obviously from tossing and turning. The blonde held his breath. Sooner or later he would have to find out who he was watching for the rest of their life. Why did he feel like he didn't want to know?

Walking around the bed slowly, Ryan regretted ever dying in the first place. Here laying before him, sleeping peacefully was Troy Bolton, highschool basketball star, show stealer, style-challenged, Troy Bolton. To say that Ryan was shocked was an understatement. The boy in front of him didn't look any different from the last time Ryan saw him, before summer vacation started. Only his hair was a little longer.

If Ryan ever got his hands on the person who decided to stick him with Troy Bolton, it would not be pretty, in the slightest.

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_...but this is your afterlife_

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**Review, because I like it. And you should do what the author likes. Otherwise, he might revolt. Or not. But review anyway, just to make his day. **

**Ciao, my loves.**


	3. Here's To Life

**Author's Note:** Sorry about the delay. I've had trouble with my internet. For some reason I don't feel like getting a beta for this fic; feel free to point out any mistakes though. Thanks to all who reviewed. Authors like to know that their fics are loved. Although this is mostly practice for my creative writing, I love to know that I'm entertaining people.

About the blonde/blond thing, I never knew that. None of my English teachers ever pointed it out. You learn something every day.

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**Chapter Two:** Here's To Life

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There is something distinct about dying that not many people fully realised until it actually happened to them. Dying sucked. Someone went through their whole life to reach that one point in their existence to be disappointed with the results. Ryan had not expected to die so young, and he did not expect dying to be such a pain. What was the point really? To be stuck looking after a boy, who didn't matter to you at all? Existence was meaningless if it meant that Ryan had to watch over Troy Bolton, the most agitating person to ever cross his path.

It had started early in his life. Everyone had been going to school with each other since kindergarten: the effects of living in a small Albuquerque suburb. Sharpay and Ryan had taken to staying on their own while the rest immediately coagulated into their little cliques. It disgusted Ryan that everyone made judgements about character so young. Troy Bolton attached himself to Chad, with Zeke and Jason always trailing behind them while they made trouble. Taylor and Martha found intellectuals like themselves with whom they could discuss the futility of assigning names to colors as it would, in the end, create the barrier humans like to call language. Kelsi followed Ryan and Sharpay around, keeping quiet and doing whatever Sharpay said.

Sharpay was dubbed "Ice Queen" in middle school, when she had words with a girl auditioning for Snow White. It ended in tears. Personally Ryan thought it was very funny when Sharpay told the girl that the part required an actress, not a wannabe whose only knowledge of the Theatre was bitchiness, smoking, and fucking your way to the top. That's why most people joined the drama club in the first place, to look cool having a cigarette while bitching it up behind someone's back. That was important of course, but not the main aspect of the Theatre. You'd have to have talent first. Then you could say whatever you wanted about whoever you wanted, as long as it didn't interfere with the status quo. The sex was only there as a pastime.

Troy Bolton had a particular problem dealing with this. He never knew it, but he ruined everything...really. In first grade, Ryan was playing basketball with Sharpay during their recess. They were very good for their age and height and generally loved accepting challenges from other children on the playground. It wasn't until Troy and Chad had come and talked them into a two-on-two. For four first-graders, it was a pretty vicious game which ended with Ryan nursing a bloody lip, Sharpay screeching for a rematch, and Troy and Chad laughing their way back to the classroom.

Fourth grade: Troy showed Ryan the meaning of humility. During a school assembly, Ryan was to recite a sonnet written by Shakespeare. Right in the middle of the third line, Ryan froze, forgetting everything having to do with summer's day, and breeze. Troy, who was also onstage to recite a poem, finished the sonnet for Ryan. It had been the most embarrassing point in his life that far. How could some kid who wasn't even interested in Shakespeare, and wasn't even supposed to have memorized Sonnet 18, finish the thing for him? It was disgraceful. Ryan hadn't ever forgotten a line since.

Seventh grade: Troy's English project received a better grade than Ryan's, even though they did the same author and book and Ryan's interpretive dance to convey the minor characters' angst was much better than Troy's on-the-spot comparative speech to love and basketball.

Ninth grade: Troy let it "slip" that Ryan had dyslexia. Not a total tragedy, but Ryan would rather it be unknown that he had a flaw so typical of the commonfolk. Though Ryan was still enduring reading jokes up to his death.

Tenth grade: Troy and new girl Gabriella beat out Ryan and Sharpay for the leads in the winter musical, which is self-explanatory.

Eleventh grade: Troy finds out Ryan is gay, and is so _accepting_. It annoyed Ryan to the ends of the earth. By then, Troy should've known that the only thing he was allowed to do was give Ryan more reasons to hate him.

Post-mortem: Ryan gets to watch Troy for the rest of the boy's life. That in itself is the biggest dishonor Ryan would ever have to take on.

The boy in question, was sleeping peacefully while Ryan was quietly twitching with annoyance. Ryan paced the room long enough to leave a dent in the floor. Every so often he would stare hard at the brunette as if just one look would set the boy alight like Ryan imagined. The sun was almost up, and so began Ryan's lifelong torture. The blond looked at the digital clock on the bedside table. It read six-eighteen. As the light came through the window, Ryan looked into the full-length mirror, and noticed that he wasn't wearing clothes he recognized. Trust Troy Bolton to have a full-length mirror in his bedroom.

The clothes on him were extremely white. So white, in fact, that Ryan had to squint just so he wasn't blinded. The cuffs to the long sleeved shirt he was wearing were rolled up, the hem was a bit short, and the fit was tight. Ryan raised his arms and watched the hem of his shirt ride up showing more than a sliver of pale flesh (if he was even made of flesh anymore). On the shirt pocket was an intricate design of a single wing, done in dark blue stitching. His trousers were fitted; not exactly tight, but not too loose and baggy. They were held up with a white leather belt. As far as he could tell he wasn't wearing underwear. And since when did have an ethereal glow?

Ryan's golden blond hair fell just past his shockingly jade (they weren't that color before) eyes. Had he ever looked so good? If one good thing came from dying, it was that Ryan had gotten an instant "wax on, wax off" treatment. He wasn't horrible looking before, he just remembered having a bad sunburn around his shoulder and face from a day at the beach, as well as a little red blemish in the middle of his forehead. His pores had been improperly cleansed the night of his death, and the little hair that he was growing on his chin needed a bit of trimming.

But now was a different story. Ryan's skin was pale with an underlying silveriness to it. It was unblemished, and there was no sunburn, and his pores were probably a thousand times smaller than it was possible for them to be. He wasn't hairless, but aside from his eyebrows, and head, and possibly an area below the belt that Ryan hadn't checked yet, the rest of his body hair was fine and barely visible. He was perfect, for all intents and purposes. And it sucked, because there was no one to try out his hotter than normal looks on.

A groan came from the bed, to which Ryan scowled. He decided that there was no way he'd be doing this. So what if Troy Bolton didn't have a guardian angel? What's the worse that would happen? He'd die? Surely it wouldn't be so bad, he'd get shuffled into whatever Fate had in store for him and Ryan could go on...afterliving. Watching someone else perhaps, or maybe even choosing reincarnation or something to spice life up. Or, he could just wander the earth, seeing and learning everything about everything. He had time, there wouldn't be anything to stop him.

A scream pierced the silence, and Ryan half jumped, half rolled his eyes. He turned back towards the bed to find a very shocked Troy Bolton pointing at him with a shaky finger. Now why wasn't this as satisfying as Ryan thought it would be? Scaring Troy shitless should be making Ryan double over with fits of giggles. "What the fuck," Troy said with wide eyes.

Ryan, not for the first time in his life, was at a loss for words. Bolton always had that affect on him. There wasn't much he could say. 'Hey, I died and went someplace where I was assigned as your guardian angel,' didn't really seem to fit the bill at the moment.

"You're supposed to be dead," the brunet stated.

_No duh,_ thought Ryan.

It suddenly occurred to Ryan that he didn't know how long he'd been dead for. Long enough for people to know obviously. He wondered if he was thrown a bit into the future. The afterlife seemed to last only a few hours though. Then again, Ryan was new to this being dead thing. Maybe time didn't run the same after you died?

"Well I'm here," was all Ryan said. There wasn't much to explain anyway, even _if _Ryan managed to understand it all one day. "And I'm stuck here for the rest of your life."

A dead silence fell over the room. Troy was staring hard at Ryan trying to convince himself that it was a dream while Ryan stood his ground, crossing his arms, waiting for a response. "My life?"

"Yes, unfortunately."

"Troy, honey," there was a knock to the door. Troy's mother, Ryan recognized the voice. "Are you okay? I heard a scream."

The blond panicked, trying to find a place to hide. Before he even crossed the room to the closet, she opened the door and came in with a concerned look set on her face. She passed right by Ryan without even a glance in his direction. The dead boy stood frozen to the spot, wide-eyed, confused.

"She can't see you?"

"Who can't see me," asked Troy's mother. She sat next to her son who was still looking at Ryan who had straightened out, brushing invisible wrinkles from his trousers, trying for the world to look as if he meant to run and hide.

"Well obviously not," Ryan rolled his eyes in an attempt to play off his ignorance in that particular department of knowledge. Being dead wasn't something he understood as of yet. Just to make sure, he waved his hand in front of Mrs Bolton's face. No reaction. So he couldn't be seen by anybody...except for Troy. Wonderful. "What a stupid question," Ryan said with a snippy tone.

"I'm fine mom," Troy assured his worried mother. "Just a nightmare."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm _fine._"

"Okay," Troy's mother stood up, adjusting her bathrobe. Her hair was wet and she was a bit flushed, which probably meant she had been showering. "If you say so." She went towards the door. "You should get up. Ryan's funeral is at eleven."

Troy nodded lamely. He blinked several times as his mother walked out of his room. Refusing to look in Ryan's direction, Troy sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed, his back turned toward the blond. Denial, Ryan suspected. "How long have I been dead," Ryan looked at his fingernails, asking nonchalantly. He wondered what going to his own funeral would be like.

There wasn't an answer from Troy. All he did was breathe heavily and ignore Ryan. "Hello," Ryan moved around the bed. "Are you going to answer?" How strange was it to be asking someone when you passed on to the next plane of existence? Ryan felt like pinching himself to make sure _he _wasn't the one dreaming.

"Seven days."

Okay, so not that far into the future. But, still, it had felt like no more than three hours. "You sure?"

"You died Sunday. You're funeral is Saturday. Today. So yes, seven days," Troy ran his fingers through the messy ebony mop on top of his head, groaning. He could care less about bed-head. It was the act of trying to comb through his hair that Troy hated so much. It felt like pulling teeth, except it was hair. To add on top of combing out his shaggy hair, Troy had the biggest hangover ever. "Why am I talking to you? You're just a hallucination caused by large quantities of alcohol consumption."

"I'm surprised you know such big words," Ryan quipped.

"Go to hell."

"I think I was there," said the dead boy. "Or at least somewhere very similar. Infinite lines, case works, no break, and no coffee. I'd call that hell."

Troy stood up and crossed the room to his closet, opening it and taking out the dry-cleaned suit he had picked up the day before. "Let's pretend for one second, that you are actually real, and in front of me."

Ryan nodded curiously.

"What the fuck do you mean? You're not making any sense."

"I don't have to make sense anymore if I don't want to. I think being deceased gives me that freedom."

"Deceased. Of course," Troy shook his head, not really listening. He turned to Ryan before heading out the door, "I'm going to go take an extremely hot shower to get rid of this shitty hangover. I fully expect you to be gone once I get back. Talking to people who aren't here isn't exactly a sign of a healthy mind."

"Oh how you hurt me so," Ryan stated mockingly. "I'll try my best though. Here is not the ideal place to spend the rest of my afterlife."

The tall boy didn't answer, but just left the room with a white towel thrown over his shoulder. Ryan waited until he heard the bathroom door down the hall open and shut, "Alex!" He looked around, "I know you can hear me through all that Continuing Cosmos of the Universe bullshit," he yelled, stomping his foot in frustration. No response. He jumped, seeing if he could fly through space like he did before. He was sure if someone could see him now, they'd call the mental hospital to pick him up. He kicked Troy's dresser, regretting it immediately afterward when pain shot up his leg.

"Mother fuc–"

"Oh, calm down," Alex chided. "You're only going to hurt yourself."

Ryan would have laughed bitterly had it not been for the distinctly sharp pain in his right foot. All he could manage was to give Alex, who had appeared out of nowhere, the middle-finger. "How did you get here? Fly?"

"I have my ways. Nothing so dramatic though," Alex stated ambiguously while examining the room around him. He picked up his foot in distaste, "Does this boy ever dust his room? How can he sleep in here?" He moved to the mirror, bending a bit to take a closer look at the picture stuck in the frame of the mirror. One of the many pictures of Troy and Gabriella together.

"You're asking me," Ryan gave the man an incredulous look. "Would you care to explain why I'm here?"

"No. Not particularly," the dark-haired man dead panned still looking at the picture.

"So that's it? I'm stuck here without an explanation as to why?"

"Pretty much," Alex smiled, adjusting his collar in the mirror and looking at Ryan once again. "That's not up to me. I'm only here to explain some rules."

Quirking an eyebrow, Ryan crossed his arms curious about what Alex would be telling him. He didn't know there would be rules to this. "Rules? You aren't serious right?"

"Let's not waste time with idle chatter. I've given up my break for this."

"Yes. So sorry," Ryan rolled his eyes. He watched Alex flatten the rumpled sheets to make room to sit down.

"Now listen carefully, because this will only be said once."

"I'm all ears."

"You are not to leave Troy Bolton's side whatsoever. There is a reason you were sent down to personally guard the boy."

The blond coughed, "Excuse me?"

"Most guardian angels watch their charges from the C.C.U. But mister Bolton is a special case."

"Wonderful."

"Don't be cheeky and just listen. I don't have much more time," Alex scolded. "No living person will be able to see you...other than Troy. The only person you'll be able to come into physical contact with is Troy, and only Troy. Keep in mind that he is still alive, and people will see him interacting with you.

"Unfortunately, our system is undergoing some changes, so you will be slightly incapacitated for the next few days. Try not to over-exert yourself until then. We wouldn't want you to disappear into Oblivion so soon."

"Oblivion?"

"I won't even go there. That's it for now. I'd stay and chat but I have work to do, as do you."

"Why am I not surprised you're not gone," Troy said. The guardian angel turned instantly to see Troy dripping wet all over the floor with only a towel wrapped around his waist. He looked over Ryan's shoulder to see an empty space behind the blond, "Who are you talking to?"

"I think the real question is _who_ are _you_ talking to? I could just be a figment of you imagination."

The brunet glared, "I didn't know Ryan well, but I'm sure he wasn't this annoying when he was alive."

"Yeah, say that after _you _die."

Troy just shook his head, ashamed that he was actually talking to this hallucination. Wouldn't it just be better to ignore it? Then it would disappear and Troy could pretend that it didn't happen and bring it up in therapy decades later where a psychologist would undoubtedly link it to the lack of maternal nurturing in the early years of his life. Right now, ignorance was bliss. So he went on getting dressed for the funeral he didn't want to go to.

Ryan turned once again as the living boy dropped his towel. He ignored the heat creeping across his cheeks, telling himself that it was very hot in the room. "Give me some warning next time, would you. I don't want my eyes to bleed." His words went disregarded as silence filled the room, other than the rustling sound of movement.

This wasn't happening. He wasn't standing in the same room as the bane of his existence, waiting for him to clothe himself. Something about this whole situation seemed totally perverse, Ryan couldn't help but wonder when the torture would end. His body betrayed him for a moment, when he turned slightly and peeked to see what stage of undress Troy was at. He quickly turned, blushing, praying to any god that would listen that the memory of Troy Bolton's perfect rear end would disappear. Unfortunately, it was very unlikely.

"Hurry up would you," seethed the blond.

Ryan was again met with silence and found that he was no longer talking to Troy, but to an empty room. He hadn't even heard the door open! Deciding that Ryan would rather face a lifetime with Troy Bolton than Oblivion, he did the unthinkable, and actually followed the boy. Walking out into the hall, Ryan saw the flash of white heading into a door at the end of the corridor. Assuming it was Troy, Ryan went and discovered the brunet boy doing up the buttons in his white dress shirt in the still-foggy bathroom mirror.

"You can't ignore me forever you know–"

"I can try my best."

"–and as much as I hate to say this: I'm here to stay."

"Fucking wonderful," Troy breathed softly, buttoning his cuffs.

Ryan rolled his eyes, leaning against the doorframe, "Are you always so vulgar?"

"Fuck yes," the boy answered flatly.

"Commoner," Ryan muttered as Troy maneuvered around him to walk back to his room. Following the boy brought up a familiar feeling within Ryan. A very poodle-like feeling. He quashed the train of thought, knowing that this was now his job and it didn't matter what he felt. Just that he had to do it, and once it was done, he could move onto something else. Seeing Troy's mother walk from her room to what he assumed was a towel closet, he yelled at her knowing she wouldn't hear him, "Did you know your son is a complete cunt!"

"Who's the commoner now," Troy spoke looking at Ryan from his room.

"Did you say something sweetie," Troy's mother asked.

"Nothing Mom!"

She went off, to finish getting dressed. Ryan smirked folding his arms and turning to Troy. "I could get used to this actually. I wonder if they'll chuck you in an institute for talking to people who aren't there." The brunet gave Ryan the finger as he tugged his black tie into place. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Torturing Troy Bolton without consequences didn't seem so horrible, and suddenly a lifetime didn't seem so long.

* * *

If Ryan thought sitting in the Bolton's SUV, driving to his own funeral was awkward, then the actual event had to top the list of strange things to happen to him in his...after-lifetime. Everyone had been pretty much silent on the way to the cemetery. Troy's mother was fiddling with her tissues, tears already welling in her eyes. She hadn't known Ryan very well, but she did know Ryan's mother. They were actually very close. Coach Bolton was driving, and pretty much had a blank expression on his face. And Troy, was looking out the window, watching everything pass by at thirty miles-per-hour.

The wake had been the day before, Troy had explained in his room. Closed casket, of course. So they were just heading straight to the grave now.

Upon arrival, the three Boltons silently got out of the SUV (Ryan noticed Troy holding the door open for an extra few seconds to allow him to get out) and made their way to the grave plot. To be honest, it wasn't what Ryan had expected. It seemed the whole school had come to give their respects. Hypocrites. Ryan didn't even know half of them. When everything got underway, Troy, Gabriella, and Sharpay stood right next to his mother and father. Ryan stood in front of his own coffin the whole time, wondering what he looked like. Horribly disfigured probably. It was a meteor that killed him after all. He said 'thank you' with a smile to each person who came up and placed a lily and rose on his coffin, except for Troy that is. He just stuck his tongue out at the boy, who in turn discreetly did the same.

"It's my funeral," Ryan said to Troy as he made his way to the boy. "You're supposed to be respectful." He gave Sharpay a sympathetic look, wondering how she had been handling everything. She must feel like a train wreck after losing the closest person to her.

Troy didn't answer.

"It's like I can feel him here, watching over us," Sharpay said to Gabriella, a little too dramatically.

"She did not just say that," Ryan uttered in disbelief, while Troy tried his best to keep laughter from escaping his lips. Sharpay always claimed they had a psychic connection, but he could not believe that she would actually ever say something so cliché, and to be honest, scarily accurate.

His family had never really been that religious, so the service hadn't lasted long. Ryan sighed as they lowered him into the ground, knowing that he was the first Evans to be buried in Albuquerque. His mother and father were from New York, and had moved to New Mexico when his mother was pregnant. All the rest of the dead relatives were in a mausoleum right outside New York City. Come to think of it, he was probably the first to be put in the ground. Tombs and the like had been a family tradition.

Looking back at his charge and then to his sister, he chuckled. How depressing and utterly ironic life turned out to be.

"Where to now, oh-Great-One," the blond nearly groveled as he and his charge were walking back to the car. Troy rolled his eyes.

"Your sister insists on everyone coming over to mourn your loss further, gifts encouraged."

"Typical," the dead boy laughed. "I die and Sharpay gets presents. Life goes on."

"What were you doing anyway," Troy asked a bit incredulous at the idea of Ryan's death. "Apparently the meteor killed you in the park, at like three in the morning."

"None of your business," Ryan clipped. He was not going to spill his guts to Troy Bolton just because he was the only person who could see and talk to him. He'd _willingly_ die before he did that.

* * *

Just like the ride tot he cemetery, the ride to the Evans' mansion had been unbearable. The party had been absolutely quiet, and hardly anyone said a word other than to praise the recently deceased twin. Ryan still hadn't known half the people there. Troy mingled, chatting in hushed tones about trivial things, such as the weather and some such nonsense. Sharpay continued to mourn, only she got more dramatic as the minutes passed. It came to the point where Troy and Gabriella had to escort her to her room so that the gathering could continue in it's quietness.

Troy's mother was soothing a tearful Mrs Evans, who was clutching a picture of Ryan to her chest. It was six in the evening, after everyone had a good amount of liquor in their blood, that the gathering started to become more of a celebration of the life of Ryan Evans. Someone had been appointed to gather all of Ryan's CDs and they just started playing them one after another. Most of it was upbeat pop music, some indie rock, and hip hop to which everyone had started dancing in all their drunkenness.

When the noise of the celebration became too much for Troy, he stumbled through the kitchen and out into the back garden. Slightly tipsy, Troy's cheeks were a bit flushed from the few tequila shots he had. Ryan shook his head as he followed the boy outside, making sure he didn't trip down the stone steps leading into the vegetable patch. It wouldn't do to have another dead teenager in the same month. He led Troy through the vegetable patch and into the flower garden that faced the man-made lake. Ryan had steadied the brunet before he slid down the slope into the cold water.

"You are so lucky I'm here to save your drunk ass," muttered the blond.

"Really? If you say so," Troy answered. Against his better judgement, Ryan let Troy walk onto the dock. The boy took off his shoes and sat on the edge, letting his feet soak in the lake water. Ryan sat next to him. Troy looked out at the glimmering water, "I was just getting over the fact that you're not a figment of my imagination."

"I still could be."

"I'm not that lucky," the taller boy laughed. "I figure that my luck ran out, and that this is somehow retribution for some misdeed that I did in a past life."

"You are a cunt," Ryan stated slowly, and clearly.

"I know. So are you."

"I'm glad we can agree on one thing."

* * *

**Comments and criticism welcome. **


	4. Rescue Me

**Author's Note:** I'm glad everyone is enjoying my fic. I doubt I'll get another chapter out for awhile after this as I have so much going on at the moment. Uni applications, auditions, and all that. So, sorry. But enjoy this chapter nonetheless.

**Sorry, I got distracted by my birthday celebrations. This chapter is quite long, to make up for the fact that I haven't updated in sixth months. Enjoy! And REVIEW!**

* * *

**Chapter Three: **Rescue Me!

* * *

"_You are a cunt," Ryan stated slowly, and clearly. _

"_I know. So are you."_

"_I'm glad we can agree on one thing."_

"Would you really call that agreeing though," Troy swayed to the side a bit, supporting himself with a hand before he lost balance and toppled into the water. Ryan rolled his eyes, crossing his legs and leaning back on his hands. Did everything the brunet say have to be an argument? "I mean, are you agreeing that you're a cunt, or I'm a cunt?"

"Shut up Bolton. You're drunk," Ryan chided softly, feeling tired for the first time all day. He briefly wondered if he ever needed sleep now. He didn't think so, otherwise it would be pointless to send only one guardian angel for one person. You'd need at least two if sleep was required. At least that's what he _thought_.

"I'm not drunk," Troy slurred.

"Keep telling yourself that."

Troy laid back on the dock, to which Ryan shook his head. The living boy rubbed at his eyes, yawning without covering his mouth. Ryan was appalled at his charge's lack of manners. "Hey Evans," Troy mumbled. The blond ran a hand through his hair, preparing for a disparaging, or otherwise stupid comment. Troy yawned again, "What's it feel like dying?"

The question caught Ryan totally off-guard, rendering him silent for a moment, "I wouldn't know. It happened too fast." Even through drunkenness Troy could sense Ryan tensing up.

"I mean, what does it _feel_ like to be dead?"

"What kind of question is that," Ryan looked at the boy lying next to him who only shrugged and closed his eyes. Looking back out to the water, Ryan could only furrow his brow trying to gather up what dying felt like. "It's..." _What could you say?_ "It's like...I'm here and not here at the same time."

"Hmm?"

"I know I'm here. And I know I'm real, for the most part. But I still feel like I could be carried away into the wind at any moment. It's hard to explain. I mean–" When Ryan looked back at Troy he found the boy snoring softly. His breathing was even and his body was slack with sleep. "Bolton," Ryan prodded. "You are absolutely joking," he muttered, standing up and bending over the youngest of the Boltons. "The minute we start having a civil conversation you fall asleep, you perfect cunt." Ryan couldn't do much but sit and wait for Troy to wake up. Knowing that he didn't have the patience for that, he tried his best to wake the boy using questionable force. Troy would possibly have bruises in the morning from the smacks Ryan was giving him.

Yet the he remained asleep. Maybe Troy had been drinking a lot more tequila than Ryan estimated. He let out a frustrated growl.

Opening his eyes had to be one of the worst decisions that Troy had ever made in his short, nearly eighteen years. The first thought to run through his head was 'Who the fuck left the curtains open?' And the second was that he needed water fast, otherwise he would quite literally die.

"Finally," came the annoyed voice.

Troy wasn't sure if he was up to dealing with hallucinations that day. Then again, it was his own fault; he did drink massive quantities of alcohol yet again, for the second day in a row. It was no surprise he was still seeing a dead Ryan Evans hover around him like a cracked up nursemaid.

"Please, just go away. I'm not crazy, so leave me alone."

Ryan rolled his eyes, adopting a stern, chastising stance. He put his hand on his hips, "You do realize that saying that makes you _sound_ crazy."

"Yes, thank you for telling me. Now go away." Troy pulled the bed covers over his head to block out Ryan and the sun. It only took him a few seconds to realize that he actually had bedcovers to pull over himself, and that he'd woken up somewhere completely different to where he remembered being last, which was playing seventeen shots with Chad in the Evans' living room. Seventeen for the number of years Ryan lived...and four extra for the years he would've spent in college, and probably another one for good luck.

Just like every other time Troy woke up with a hangover, he promised himself to never again touch tequila.

"Why are you awake so goddamn early? Don't you sleep," was Troy's muffled question.

"As far as I know, I don't need to."

The dead boy hadn't slept a wink since the day he died. Or if one were to get technical, he was sleeping already. His body at least. It would be sleeping forever, as whatever was left of Ryan (his soul he supposed) would linger with Troy a few decades and then be off to whatever the universe had in store for him. He let this thought run through his head a few times, each moment feeling better. It wouldn't be forever. Once Troy died, Ryan was free. Honestly, it was a morbid and cruel thought, but Ryan suspected it was probably going to be the only thing keeping him going for however long this 'arrangement' lasted.

"Luckily for you, I get to stay awake all night...Waiting for anything to happen. _Watching_ you," Ryan grinned deviously, which kind of creeped Troy out. He pulled the covers around himself tighter, wishing that the blond boy in front of him went away.

"Just, go away," Troy pleaded, still hidden under his bed covers, curled up into a ball, covering his ears. Every sound Troy heard was like a canon going off in his head. Ryan talking was only making his headache worse.

"Believe me, I wish I could."

"How did I get here anyway," came the muffled voice of the basketball player.

"Ah, the age old question of: 'Who had to carry Troy Bolton's drunk ass home _this_ time?'," Ryan's words slipped out of his mouth, sarcasm dripping with each syllable. "Your mother, bless her cotton socks, was looking for you almost an hour after festivities were said and done. She found you passed out on the dock, and she got a very drunk Chad and Jason to carry you to the car. Your mother drove home, as dearest Coach Bolton was too inebriated to even touch the steering wheel. Somehow she managed to get you awake enough to climb to your room, and she tucked you in. If I had known people would have this much fun at my expense, I would have died, ages ago," Ryan rolled his eyes. How could so many people show up to his funeral and after party (which in Ryan's opinion is a bit disturbing), when they hadn't even cared to even wave to him during most of their school life.

"Oh."

"Yes, 'Oh'. You should get up. It's nearly one-thirty in the afternoon."

"Fuck off."

The blond moved closer to the bed. "How good of a guardian angel would I be if I didn't keep Troy Bolton running to schedule," he said while poking the covered boy through the sheets.

"Fuck off. I don't have a schedule."

Nonetheless, Ryan still kept prodding Troy. It was a strange feeling, to be honest. He knew he was poking Troy, but Ryan couldn't actually _feel_ himself poking the boy. He saw the sheets move under his finger, and heard the brunet's groans of protests, but Ryan couldn't actually feel what he was touching. He remembered Alex saying something about this. That he would only be able to physically interact with his charge. It creeped him out. It made him feel insubstantial, and like he wasn't actually there.

"Eurgh! Fine! I'll get up!"

Troy threw the covers off of himself and jumped out of bed, pressing his palms against his temples and squeezing his eyes shut. His legs automatically carried him to the toilet, and he left Ryan alone in his room to start his morning, or rather afternoon, routines. It had been a good twenty minutes before Troy came back bladder empty, teeth brushed, and face washed.

"What the hell took you so long?"

Troy regarded Ryan with a look of criticism, and he moved to his closet without answering the dead boy's question.

"Were you..._masturbating_," Ryan stage-whispered.

"Even if I was, why would I tell a figment of my imagination something like that?"

"If this relationship is going to work out," Ryan came up behind the boy and tapped him on the shoulder. He felt _that_. It was a simple three taps on Troy's bare shoulder and Ryan had felt it. He looked at his fingers distractedly, "you're going to have to stop referring to me as a figment of your imagination."

He didn't really notice Troy walking around him and going to his drawers. "Could you let me live in some sort of denial for a little please. Besides, how do I know that my mind wants me to think that you are real, and you could just be fake?"

"Okay, you're going to have to repeat that in normal, fluent English. I don't talk crazy."

Troy sighed. "I'm going to breakfast," he said as he pulled on a shirt and left the room.

There was no way Ryan was staying in that room alone for another inordinate amount of time. He followed Troy down the hall, and then down the stairs and into the kitchen. Breakfast had been a rather ordinary affair. Despite Ryan's presence, Troy managed to ignore the blond and eat his morning meal without trouble. The conversation had been light, with Jack Bolton nursing a hangover just like his son, and Troy's mother had gone on about one of her patient's fear of the color orange. She was a psychologist apparently. And that meant more amusing stories for the dinner table. Conversation steered clear of anything to do with the death or Ryan Evans, for Troy's sake of course.

"So honey, what are you going to do today," Mrs Bolton questioned lightly.

The boy hesitated before answering. He hated when his mother asked him those kind of vague questions. It felt like she was trying to psycho-analyze him like she did with her patients. "I think I'll call some people. See what they're doing," he answered while looking down at his half eaten toast. He could feel his mother's, as well as Ryan's, eyes on him.

"That's good," Mrs Bolton gave her son a small smile and proceeded to clean up the plates, finding his answer to be adequate.

"Well, I'm going back to bed," Jack said, holding his head and wincing slightly as he stood up. He'd drunk much more alcohol thank Troy. Thankfully he was a school PE coach, and he didn't need to prepare any lesson plans as it was summertime. He made his way up the stairs bidding his family a 'good rest of the day' while he slept away his atrocious headache.

"I better go give him some aspirin," Troy's mother sighed, placing the dishes in the sink and going straight for the cabinet full of medicine. She took a bottle of Advil and headed for the stairs. "Troy, make sure you bring and umbrella or wear a jacket. The weather report said it will rain later today," she called as she climbed the steps. "And drive carefully!"

Troy raised his brow, looked outside the window at the blue sky and sun shining brightly. It was a perfect day. And the weatherman wasn't one to be trusted around Albuquerque. He doubted it would rain. Troy went up stairs and into his room. "I'm sure I'll be fine mom. It's a perfect day," Troy hollered from his room, picking up a pair of jeans from his floor and putting them on. He wasn't sure if they were clean, but it didn't really matter.

"You're such a pleb."

The brunet jumped, startled. He'd actually forgotten that Ryan was there, at least four steps behind him with every move he made. "Christ! Don't do that!"

Ryan rolled his eyes as Troy picked up his cell phone. It rang just as he flipped it open, and answered automatically. "Hey, I was just about to call you," Troy spoke into the phone ignoring the blond once again and moved about his room as if he had no purpose. Ryan watched Troy pace, and he almost envied the boy he hated, who essentially got to keep his normal, unboring life. Even before Ryan had died, his life had amounted to little in the grand scheme of things.

"Sure that sounds great."

A sigh escaped the dead boy's lips, and he fell onto Troy's bed. Or rather, fell into thin air. He wasn't touching the bed one bit, but hovering mere centimeters above it. He tried touching the unkempt and unmade sheets, but found his hand went straight through them and probably through the bed as well. Examining his hand with wide eyes, Ryan let the disturbed feeling he was currently experiencing run throughout his entire body. Oh God, he was a ghost! He couldn't touch anything. He was insubstantial! Maybe he was a figment of Troy Bolton's imagination.

"What the fuck," Ryan looked towards Troy who had just said the three words very slowly, and with a note of shock.

"I don't know. I just wanted to lie down and...this happened," Ryan said looking face down at the bed that he was hovering over. Each time he tried to touch the covers, his hand would only go through them.

Slowly, Troy inched closer to the bed, and the bent over to look at the space between Ryan and his place of sleep. Someone was hovering...in his room. A _dead_ boy was hovering in his room. If this wasn't the strangest and freakiest thing to ever happen to Troy, then he didn't know what to expect anymore. "That's...creepy." He waved his hand below the floating Ryan, to make sure that he wasn't seeing things, or that it wasn't just another trick of his mind.

"Thank you. Now get me the fuck down."

Troy stood up, scratching his head. Het sat down on the bed next to the floating Ryan to reevaluate his life and his sanity, not noticing the blond dropping onto the bed as if he were a real person again. Ryan wanted to hit the next dead person he saw. Everything that Alex said was starting to make a little sense, and at the same time, it made Ryan angry.

'_The only person you'll be able to come into physical contact with is Troy, and only Troy.'_

Which most likely meant, if Troy wasn't touching it, Ryan couldn't touch it. Frustrated, the blond punched Troy's pillow several times, not feeling anything despite being able to come into contact with the object. But Ryan had said 'person', hadn't he? Surely that meant that Ryan wouldn't be totally disconnected from the physical world.

"I'm going to meet Gabriella at Starbuck's," announced Troy, standing up and looking around for his keys. "You coming?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

Jade eyes glared harshly at the basketball player. "It was rhetorical, you idiot."

Troy shrugged. He searched his room for another few minutes, coming up completely empty handed. Then he remembered, digging his hand into his pocket, he plucked the keys out and jingled them, impressed with himself. It only gave Ryan fuel to frown.

"So they are dirty?"

"Whatever," Troy shrugged again, having the perfect excuse. He was a boy. He didn't need to wear clean clothes if he didn't want to.

"Great, I get to watch a _dirty_ plebeian."

* * *

Ryan had literally kissed the ground once Troy parked the decrepit pick-up truck near the entrance to the open air shopping mall. Not only was the vehicle ancient, but Troy was not the best of drivers. There were times during the ride that Ryan thought he would literally piss himself. "You and that..._thing_ should be banned from the road," Ryan nearly shrieked, pointing at his charge and then the truck with wide eyes. They stood near the entrance of the large, open air shopping mall that many of the East High students frequented. Starbuck's was right at the center; a good five minute walk from the parking lot.

"Calm down," the brunet rolled his eyes. "I was running late. Gabriella hates it."

"You pet."

"Gabriella hates what," the girl in question came bounding up with Taylor and Chad right behind her. She gave Troy a peck on the lips and hooked her arm in his. "You're on time, Troy-boy. That's a first. Who're you talking to?" The girl looked sideways, right through Ryan, seeking the person Troy had been having words with.

"No one. Just myself."

"That's a sure sign of craziness, Bolton," Chad told his friend while slinging his arm over Taylor's shoulder. Troy looked at Chad, and narrowed his eyes. His big-haired best friend looked a little too happy for someone who had drank massive amounts of alcohol the night before. He should suffering from a hangover, just like Troy.

"Dude, why do you look so...not hungover?"

Chad snorted leading the way into the mall and heading in the direction of Starbuck's. "Taylor's mom has the best hangover cures," he commented vaguely.

"How do you think I always seem to be so ready for Monday mornings," Taylor yawned, throwing Chad's arm off of her and giving him a lazy glare. She was still pissed that she had to carry his drunken ass back to her house.

"I like how you're all acting like one of your classmates hasn't just died," Ryan mumbled as he walked next to Troy, crossing his arms, clearly not happy with his current situation. His comment went ignored, of course. "And that you _didn't_ get drunk at his funeral after party."

The four friends just kept on walking, Ryan tailing them with his arms crossed and a petulant frown set upon his lips. That particular mall was one of the larger ones in their part of Albuquerque. Often people from East High would hang around the manmade falls in the center of the mall. They reached Starbuck's in what seem like a matter of minutes and filed inside, Ryan managing to just slip in before the door closed. Chad and Taylor went for orders while Gabriella and Troy volunteered to go find seats. Soon enough, all four of them were sitting in a far corner or the café, drinking the respective coffees, and chatting about light subjects. Everyone seemed to avoid mentioning the previous day unless it was to reference some extremely stupid drunken act that took place. Even then, it wasn't a very overt reference.

"It's so strange," the brunette girl suddenly spoke up, holding her caramel frappuccino with both hands. Her eyes seemed distant, as she gazed off at no one in particular and her brow furrowed.

"What," they all seemed to say at once.

"I used to see Ryan here every morning before vacation. We used to get coffee together and sit and have chats before running off to school. It was the only time other than Lava Springs that I didn't see him attached to Sharpay's side."

"That's my girl," Ryan wanted to hug Gabriella. "I knew I could count on the Einsteinette to say _something_ about me." It was very appreciated. Even at his after funeral party, people had skirted around the issue of his death, preferring to talk about other things. He couldn't count how many times he said, 'what the fuck' that night. Everyone had seemed to be in denial, or something. But at least Ryan could rely on Gabriella Montez to bite the bullet and mention his name. Even if it wasn't exactly true. He hadn't really just been getting coffee for himself, as he'd started out at Starbuck's every morning merely because Sharpay wanted something to wake her up properly. She just never noticed how long he was gone, which is why he could always stop and chat with Gabriella.

"I know what you mean," Chad spoke up. "It wasn't until that staff baseball game that he really started hanging around anyone other than The Lion."

"My sister is not a 'lion', Danforth," Ryan glared at said boy. It had been an ongoing argument between the newly formed friends. Ryan would try to defend his sister at the best of his abilities, but couldn't quite stand up to the cold hard facts the Chad always seemed to present. Sharpay was kind of a bitch. A loud bitch. But she was still his sister, loud and bitchy as she may be. "How many times have I told you that?"

"He can't hear you," Troy whispered in Ryan's general direction, sipping his drink at the same time.

"What'd you say Troy?"

"Huh? Oh. I said, if he could hear you, I don't think he'd appreciate you calling his sister a lion."

Chad shrugged and went back to discussing Sharpay with the girls. Troy seemed to get lost in the conversation, and let everything said slip into one ear and out the other. It wasn't until Ryan prod his shoulder several times that Troy realized that someone was trying to get his attention. Chad and Taylor were standing up, while Gabriella was at the register, buying another iced coffee.

"Dude, stop zoning like that. It's kind of creepy," Chad said with a hint of amusement. "Anyway, me and Taylor are out. She has things to do, and I'm her ride home."

"Yeah man. See ya."

They both waved as they walked out the door and toward the parking lot. Troy watched them until they turned a corner and disappeared from view. At the same time, Gabriella came up to him, offering him a bottle of water.

"Shopping?"

She made it sound so simple and worthy of his time. Troy hated living up to male stereotypes, but he _hated_ shopping with a passion. Not because he didn't like looking for new things to buy. Actually, he loved buying new things. But normally, whenever he went shopping it wasn't for himself. Call it selfish, but he hated how Gabriella, or his mother, or any other person seemed to lead him around. Asking him if 'this makes me look fat?' Or, 'Do these colors match my eyes?' It was annoying. Really annoying. And he wouldn't dare go shopping alone, so he was pretty much stuck. "Yeah, sure," taking the offered bottle of water and standing up.

* * *

It was absolute torture. Troy had taken his first chance to slip away from Gabriella and her constant chatter about shoe sizes. She may be have been one of the smartest girls at school but she was still a girl nonetheless. To makes matters worse, Gabriella's added intellectual factor made shopping with her unbearable. If Troy had to hear another word about the aerodynamic difference between hooded sweaters and high-collared jackets, then he'd jump out the next ten-story window. His saving grace was, ironically, Ryan who would make snide remarks about Gabriella's clothing choice. Troy almost couldn't hold his laughter in when he was with Gabriella earlier in the women's section.

"Did you know that white is actually all the colors in the color spectrum combined," the girl had spouted off to Troy while examining herself with a white skirt on in the mirror. Troy had shrugged while Ryan snorted.

"Honey, no matter how many colors that white contains, that skirt still makes your hips look wide."

Troy had been beside himself, chuckling quietly behind her.

"What's so funny," she had asked.

The basketball player just shook his head and excused himself to the menswear section. He kept on forgetting that Ryan wasn't actually there and no one else could see the blond. He was still questioning his sanity, actually. Ryan was either a manifestation of some mental illness or really a ghost...or whatever he was. In the end, it didn't matter, because he was currently standing in a dressing room, with the blond completely ignoring him while he tried on shirts.

What Troy didn't know, was that Ryan was trying his best to ignore Troy. He kept sighing heavily and staring at his perfect cuticles. B.D. (Before Death, as that's how Ryan started mentally referring to his life timeline) his cuticles had been manicured, almost as good as Sharpay's. He had better nails than most of the girls at his school. But now, his nails were just...too perfect. He truly wouldn't have been able to stop staring if he hadn't been sitting in the dressing room with Troy Bolton. Ryan kept getting sidetracked from his nails by the undeniably gorgeous body of his charge. Not only was he tall and lean, but he had lightly defined muscles that weren't too big and suited his slim frame. And his slight tan (unlike Sharpay's) did not look fake.

There was bile that kept churning in his stomach and rising up to the back of his throat every time he remembered that he was ogling the boy he disliked most from East High. It made him feel dirty, like he needed to take a shower. It was grossing him out, that someone so attractive could be so annoying.

"What do you think," Troy turned to Ryan tugging at the hem of the red button up shirt.

For a moment Ryan was taken aback, astounded that Troy would even ask for his opinion much less acknowledge his presence. "I thought I was just a figment of your imagination," Ryan said with a hint of venom.

"Just answer the question."

"It's fine. What is it for anyway?"

"I dunno," Troy turned back to face the mirror, pulling the sleeves down and turning sideways. "A date with Gabriella, I guess."

"In that case, it's horrendous."

Blue eyes quickly glared at the blond, before the owner of them pulled the shirt over his head and threw it with all the other rejected clothing.

"In fact, I think you look horrendous in everything. But you can't help it, it's just how you look."

"You're _not_ helping."

Ryan shrugged and went back to pretending to examine his nails, when he was really peeking out of the corner of his eye at Troy. The brunet had been trying things on for almost a half an hour, with no Gabriella in sight. She too was probably wrapped up in picking out homely clothes to wear with Troy on...well, whatever poorer people did on dates. Probably something very cheap. Ryan was hardly elitist, but he did have standards. Any date that didn't consist of an expensive wine and dine, was not worth his time. His attention was brought away from his nails once again as Troy let out a frustrated growl.

The tall boy tore the shirt over his head and threw it to Ryan. It happened to go straight through him, a feeling he did _not_ like. It was as if cold water had just been poured down his spine. "Yeah, nice. I'm right here, you know."

"Sorry. It's just, I finally get to find something for myself and obviously nothing looks good."

The blond rolled his eyes. Honestly, Troy wasn't such a horrible dresser. All he needed was a bit of flair and he would look great. "You are such a pleb," he muttered while pointing to a blue sleeve sticking out one pile of shirts . "Coral blue. It compliments your skin tone and eyes. Didn't you listen to my sister at all this summer?"

"Divine protection and fashion advice all rolled into one. How did I get so lucky," the tall brunet pulled at the sleeve.

"Please, let's avoid the subject of luck, as I'm very bitter about my recent string of bad fortune."

"What do you mean?" Troy slipped the shirt on over his shoulders, then began buttoning it up.

"Let's see. Being cast as _your_ understudy in the past two winter musicals. Being shoved aside by my sister many a time so she can focus on getting _you_. Having to put up with _you_ just to avoid hassle from every other person who basically kisses your ass, now that _you_ have united the school in a never-ending metaphorical sing along to Kumbaya around a fire. Getting to watch _you_ for the rest of your life. Oh yeah, and _dying._ All in all, I think my year has been pretty much fucked up. And what a coincidence, a lot of it has to do with _you_."

He didn't know what to say. Troy had never really hung around with Ryan, and to be honest before the summer he hadn't even really noticed the boy. Yeah, they would occasionally see each other as some of his friends were Troy's friends. But all in all, the living boy's opinion of his guardian angel was neutral. He neither liked or disliked the boy. But it seemed Ryan pretty much hated his guts, which was odd because Troy didn't remembered ever doing anything to the boy. "I'm...sorry?"

"Whatever. At this point it doesn't really matter anymore."

An awkward silence stretched out between them as Troy stood topless, holding the coral blue shirt. "You know, I really didn't mean to do any of that. I don't know why you're taking such an offense to all of it. It's a bit childish, don't you think?"

"The day you can rightfully say that I'm being childish is the day that pigs sprout wings and fly."

"Whatever." Troy couldn't be bothered to argue with the boy only he could see. For all he knew, someone could be standing right outside the dressing room curtain, listening to him talk to what would seem like himself. _And_, they were arguing about foolishness anyway. So the conversation they were having was pretty much useless.

Troy slipped the shirt on, and buttoned it up. It actually did look quite good on him, fitting in all the right places yet still managing not to look too small. He turned, looked into the mirror and ignored the heavy sigh that came from the boy sitting on the bench. How long, he wondered, would he have to endure this boy plaguing his mind. Maybe he should talk to his mother about it. She was a psychiatrist after all.

"Troy, you in there," came the voice of Troy's girlfriend from the other side of the curtain.

"Yeah, Gabs. Wait a sec, I'm almost done."

"Okay."

Troy changed back into his own clothes and gathered all the ones that he chose. On the way out of the dressing rooms, he handed everything to the shop assistant and made his way through the department store with Gabriella (and Ryan) by his side. They wandered the various sections, taking a particularly long time at the make-up counters. Finally, when they had exited they still had bought nothing.

"Wanna go to Abercrombie?"

"Maybe not," answered the basketball player. "I think I've had enough shopping for today, seeing as I didn't really plan to." At least that was his excuse. He loved Gabriella dearly, but she was the worst person to shop with. Especially with Troy's aversion to shopping for other people. In their entire relationship, not once had she ever bought anything for Troy, other than on Christmas and his birthday. And he couldn't count how many times he'd gotten her things. Not that he wanted anything, but it was nice to receive an offhanded, spontaneous gift every once in awhile. "I think I'm going to head home for a bit. Maybe we can do something tonight?"

Gabriella smiled, and wrapped her arms around Troy's neck. "Sure. Just remember to call me when you think of something." She gave him a peck on the lips and started towards the parking lot to her car. "Oh, and Troy."

"Hm?"

"I heard you in the dressing room. You should really stop talking to yourself. Chad's right. It sounds a little crazy when you do."

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied with a grin. "See you later, Gabs."

He watched her go, and then headed off into the direction of his truck, the silent Ryan trudging behind him. He noticed that the sky was grey now. They must have spent a while in the store, because it was vastly different from when they had entered. The sun was now blocked out by the dark clouds looming above, ready to burst open and pour down.

"Can we go please," sighed Ryan. "As fun as shopping is, I don't really like to watch and not participate."

Troy rolled his eyes. "You are so impatient."

"Thank you."

* * *

_They are running for the shelter of his car, trying to escape the pouring rain. It happened so suddenly. It had been bright and sunny, but somehow, the weather has this way of changing where one minute your soaking up sun, and the next, you're just soaking. I watch them. Him. Ryan. Who's special beyond so many ways he doesn't realize. _

_I wish there was something I could do. But alas, that is not within my power. The Universe has a mysterious way of working, though. And I'm confident that, in the end, he...they will be alright._

* * *

"Did you say something?"

"What?" Troy glanced to Ryan with a confused look and then turned his attention back to the road. "No."

"Are you sure. I could have sworn I heard you say something."

"I'm pretty sure. Now look who's hearing voices."

Jade eyes narrowed into a glare, and went back to staring out the window.

Typically, the windshield wipers on Troy's truck were not working, so the brunet was navigating the rainy streets of Albuquerque in a blurry haze of water. Despite Ryan's earlier experience in the truck, Troy wasn't actually a bad driver. Maybe he was telling the truth when he said that 'I was late'. That wasn't a good reason to drive like a maniac though.

"Damn, I'm so wet," Troy complained, picking at his clothes at a red stoplight.

"Didn't your mother tell you to take an umbrella?"

"Please, stop talking." There was no need to rub it in his face. Troy knew he should have listened to his mother, regardless of the untrusty weather report. But he didn't want to hear that he was wrong seventeen times. Because that's how many times Ryan had said that exact same sentence. Or at least that's how many times it seemed like he said it. He steered his truck around a corner, squinting to see through his windshield. "I hate the rain," he said.

"Do you?"

"Yeah." It was silent for the next few minutes. Ryan kept staring out of the window, looking for god knows what in the bleak wetness surrounding them. There was still a part of Troy, that didn't really want to believe this was happening. Maybe he was having some weird ass dream, that he was about to wake up from any second from now. "It was raining the night you died, I think." That had caught Ryan's attention, not that Troy meant to. But he really didn't like driving in silence. And his radio was broken, so something had to give. If it meant attempting conversation with his guardian angel, then so be it.

"Did it? How do you know?"

It was peculiar actually. Troy could remember the night perfectly, but he couldn't remember the fine details. "I had woken up in the middle of the night. It was raining. I remember because I stayed up thinking until the sun rose."

What had he been thinking about? He had spent hours thinking about something, but he couldn't seem to recall.

"Anyway, when I can't stop thinking, I tend to run. So I got up a did exactly that. I ran through the park, and I saw the ambulances and police and everything around that one tree. It was weird. I ran home and got a call from Gabriella. She said you'd died."

Ryan listened intently. He wondered what the scene looked like, the morning he died. It had all been so quick and Ryan didn't have any time to absorb everything. Only now was he just beginning to get over it. He made a mental note to suggest a death therapist on the other side to help people like him get through the 'transition'.

"So what's it like to die?"

"Oh, really sensitive Bolton. But you asked me that already."

"Did I? I don't remember."

Ryan snorted, "Well you were very, very drunk at the time so that's understandable."

"I guess." He looked at Ryan, who raised a brow at him. "But really."

"It's–"

Everything had slowed down as the lights shining behind Troy flashed bright. Before Ryan could even think, he grabbed onto Troy and held tight, feeling a pull below his navel. His eyes were shut tight, and for a moment he felt weightless. The sound of crushing metal and screeching tires echoed from far off. The rain was pelting them now, and when Ryan opened his eyes he let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in. It had been such a quick reaction, he didn't even know what had happened. He was kneeling on the road with his arms wrapped around Troy. Troy's truck was currently crushed against the front of a semi-truck which had screeched to a halt a few hundred yards away from them.

Troy was frozen. He couldn't believe what just happened. One minute he was sitting in his truck, and then the next he had been snatched away in a flurry of white and dropped onto the hard pavement with the rain falling. He had watched his truck being totaled by the larger one that he didn't know had been coming their direction. It had hit the driver's side.

Both boys ignored the white feathers drifting to the ground around them. At the moment, the needed to process what had just happened.

"Pay attention to the road," Ryan said with no expression, "otherwise you _will_ find out what it's like to die."

Troy only nodded.

* * *


	5. Endings And Beginnings

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the (extremely) long delay. I had genuine writer's block for the first time in awhile. Every other time I've just been a bit lazy, but something wasn't connecting in my brain with the story for the longest time. I'm going to have to ask for people's patience when it comes to the Tryan stuff. This story has changed a lot since I started it a year ago. It may not look it at the moment, but it has become somewhat of an epic in terms of complexity.

And I have to say now, that this story is officially AU (not that it wasn't already), since High School Musical 3 came out. Anyway, enjoy this chapter.

Thanks are due to everyone who took the time to review, and this chapter dedicated to all of you!

**By the way, I put a POLL up in my profile that pertains to this story. Go check it out and vote!**

**- - - - - - - - - -**

**Chapter Four: Ends And Beginnings**

**- - - - - - - - - -**

_Ryan, with Sharpay. Blowing out the candles of their birthday cake. They'd turned five._

_Ryan, laying on his back in the street. Troy leaning over him, crying and yelling, but no sound coming out of his mouth._

_Ryan, singing in the shower._

_Ryan, watching Troy's parents arrive on the scene and grab their son in a tight embrace, checking to make sure he was okay._

_Ryan, dancing with Sharpay on stage._

_Ryan, laying in a hospital bed._

_Ryan, sitting under a tree on a dark night._

_Ryan, in the dark. Floating in the dark. A single voice that sounded like many, penetrating him. Running through his very being, past his flesh, and bone, and blood, and right into his very soul._

_A woman with dark skin, and long flowing hair. She speaks to him but he cannot hear anything anymore. She reaches out her hand and Ryan takes it._

**- - - - - - - - - -**

His vision seemed to fade in and out of blackness. He saw things that were probably happening around him, things that had already happened when he was alive, and things that didn't make any sense at all. It was encapsulated into a big jumble in front of his eyes broken up by the fading into darkness and the silence. And everything swirled around him in the darkness, sucking him down to whatever direction 'down' was.

Ryan's body began to feel tingly and warm, and everything began to feel real again. Like he wasn't in some weird, psychotic dream.

"You're back," a voice said. "I was beginning to think I'd gone sane."

Jade eyes opened to the dim light. He was laying face up, looking at the ceiling. He looked to his side to find Troy sitting at his desk, the lamp being the only thing illuminating the room, explaining their current level of lighting. "Back," the blond had questioned. He wasn't even aware that he had been gone. Or he was, but he wasn't aware that he wasn't seen for a short while. "Where'd I go?"

"You disappeared. My parents came to pick me up and clean up the mess and everything. I talked to them for like two minutes, and when I looked back to where you were laying, you were gone."

"Oh." Ryan stretched on arm out and looked at his hand. He was there. For sure. And he was floating, definitely. He remembered that he didn't like the feeling of being insubstantial. "Bolton. Get me down, right now," he commanded with a sudden panic in his voice. No, he didn't like the feeling at all. It had to go away, even if it was Troy Bolton to be the one to relieve him.

The brunet stood from his desk, leaving what seemed like summer homework. How typical. Tory almost dies, and all he does is to go about completing the required reading for English. He approached Ryan slowly, as if to make sure that whatever movement he made didn't make the blond disappear again. He sat on the bed and watched Ryan slowly descend.

"You okay? You fainted, and then you were gone."

"I fainted?"

Troy furrowed his brow. "Um, yeah. You had this blank expression on your face and then you just collapsed. It was kind of weird."

"I feel fine."

He was answered with a shrug. And uncomfortable silence settled over them, with Ryan looking slightly over Troy's shoulder, and the latter giving Ryan an intense stare. "Nothing hurts or anything? You don't feel sick?"

"I said I'm fine."

He didn't need anyone – especially Troy Bolton – coddling him. Being dead meant that you didn't get hurt, right? So there was no reason to worry about injury, or feeling "sick". As if to prove a point he got up and moved around the room. "See. Fine."

"If you say so."

"Well, I do," Ryan crossed his arms. "Why do you care so much anyway?"

"I dunno." Troy stood up as well. The awkwardness was apparent in the expression he was giving his guardian angel. Showing concern for someone who obviously didn't like you, and took every chance to blatantly put you down didn't sit well with him. But Ryan had saved his life. He had bodily grabbed Troy, and somehow he ended up outside the now crushed pick up truck. The police couldn't figure it out, and had chalked it up to luck and a miracle at work. If they only knew. "You did save me, so I guess it would be polite to make sure you're okay..."

"Well," Ryan said with an edge, yet his argument fell lamely to a simple, "Thank you. I suppose."

The world had truly turned upside down. If Sharpay ever knew that Ryan was willingly apologizing to someone, she would have beaten him over the head with her pink, glittered microphone.

"Look," they couldn't go on like this forever. Someone had to draw a line somewhere, and if it had to be Troy, so be it. "We're going to be together for a while–"

"Unfortunately."

"–so can we at least agree to try and not argue and stuff. A lifetime is very long, and I don't think I could handle it if I had you heckling my every move until I die. That seems pretty bleak for a future."

"As I'm sure you'll find out, there are much worse things," Ryan mumbled, turning on his heel. But Troy did have a point, and if Ryan wasn't anything else, he was at least sensible. Stopping in front of the closed bedroom door, he sighed. They'd have to get used to each other and a few ground rules had to be laid out. "Could you open the door?"

"Yeah, sure."

Things would definitely have to change. Try as he may, Ryan would have to depend on his charge for normal everyday activities such as simply opening a door, which would probably become more than just an inconvenience in the future. To be trapped by a mere piece of wood on hinges was embarrassing to say the least.

"Thanks," he said, pausing in the doorway and looking down. _Why not_, was his initial thought. He could play nice, couldn't he? "I guess…I guess I could be a little nicer."

Troy followed Ryan out of the room, sighing and scratching his head.

- - - - - - - - - -

That day, Troy had the house to himself, so to speak. His mom had gone to work as usual, and his dad had gone across town to visit his grandmother. Which was odd, since Jack only went to see her on weekends. Nonetheless, the house was his. Usually it would mean wandering around in only his boxers, watching television and eating his weight in cereal.

Despite having a guest, the routine didn't change one bit.

"Do you have to walk around the house naked," inquired the nicer of the two Evans' twins.

"I'm not naked. I'm wearing boxers. There _is_ a difference."

Eyes were rolled and ignored in the same instance.

"When your decency is covered by a mere thin piece of cotton, I would not call that a difference."

"I'm comfortable with me body, so what?"

"And I'm sure you wouldn't be saying that if you were Harvey Fierstein."

"Who?"

"Nevermind."

In these moments, Ryan thanked god for small miracles. Because who else got to see Troy Bolton with nought but some thin boxers covering his body? Probably Gabriella. But she didn't count because she was the girlfriend. Fortunately, he stifled his desire to drool. You couldn't lust over someone when you were adamant on proving they annoyed the hell out of you.

The rest of breakfast was a silent affair, with Troy reading the sports page in the newspaper and Ryan trying his best to forget that his cheeks felt particularly hot and were probably the color of a ripe tomato.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. It's just a bit hot in here." Which was an obvious lie.

"You're hot? Even though you're...dead?"

"Hey! I still have feelings!"

"Sorry."

- - - - - - - - - -

Ryan would have almost preferred sitting at the dining table with a half-naked boy rather than watching _basketball_. Apparently, Jack Bolton had discovered how to abuse his TiVo, by recording a whole season of games that he and Troy loved to re-watch. It was not amusing to sit next to a boy yelling at a game which he probably already saw.

"How many times have you watched this?"

"I missed this game when it originally came on." Troy was sitting on the edge of his seat, distractedly running a hand through his hair while Ryan had his legs folded up against his chest and his chin resting on his knees.

He hadn't noticed before how he didn't have on any shoes. Odd, since he didn't remember taking them off.

"But you already know who wins."

"That's not the point, Ry."

Something peculiar struck Ryan at that moment when he realized what Troy had just called him. "Did you just call me 'Ry'?"

"Ry? Everyone calls you Ry." Troy furrowed his brow in confusion. "Well, Gabriella more than everyone else. You know, since this summer. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Only Sharpay has ever called me 'Ry'. What do you mean this summer?" Ryan drew a blank when he tried to recall the past few months. Something wasn't right. Surely he and Troy had talked about the summer before. So why couldn't he recollect any memories? "Besides, you didn't call me Ry before."

"Well I didn't consider you Ryan before today, really. And to be honest, I don't know if I should. You could still just be my imagination gone wild trying to cope with the loss of a school friend."

There was no need to point out that they were never really friends, no matter how much Ryan wanted to. But that didn't solve the problem at hand. What summer had Troy been talking about? He shook his head, dismissing his train of thought and focusing on hating basketball. They lapsed into silence again. Every so often, Troy would continue shouting obscenities at the television screen.

"I'm going for some soda, you want anything," Troy asked absent-mindedly. He got his answer when Ryan gave him the coldest pointed look he could muster. One that sent a freezing trickle down his spine and made him look away from the tactlessness of it all. With a muttered, "sorry," he stood up and made his way into the kitchen.

"BOLTON!"

He took seconds to open the fridge and grab a soda. Returning, he entered into a barrage of flailing arms and legs with "fuck" and "you" flying his way between every other yelp. Ryan was hovering mid-air, and struggling to keep some semblance of dignity as he basically defied the laws of physics. Although, to be fair, they were a bit beyond defying mere physics now and were breaching paranormal. Or metaphysical. Troy was never sure which one was which.

"Stop standing there like an empty-headed model and help me down, Bolton!"

"Are we on last names again? Well, I wasn't really on last names, but you were."

"Shut _UP_! Get me _down_!"

After Ryan was safely attached to the couch and ground again, he made a point of smacking the taller boy on his bare arm. Surprisingly, it had the desired effect. Troy had yelped and rubbed his arm with a pout that could make a top model look like a pig.

"That actually kind of hurt."

"Good! You had me up there a long time."

Ryan wasn't happy when he received, not an apology, but a shrug. A simple, careless shrug that made his blood simmer beneath his now porcelain skin. Why did Troy always seem to make him so angry? It was so frustrating to have to be in the same room, breathing the same air. But before, he could at least keep his distance. Now he had Troy in his face every day, even if it was a very pretty face. One that any other person wouldn't mind having to look at all day. A face that made Ryan's stomach flipflop (in the nauseated way, of course).

"I'm going to shoot some hoops," proclaimed the tall basketball captain.

"Joy. But you haven't finished watching the game," was Ryan's sardonic counter. "Don't you ever get enough of basketball?"

"No," said Troy as shifted around the couch and ruffled blond hair.

Ryan followed him, running fingers through his hair, smoothing it out. He exclaimed, "It was a rhetorical question!" Or rather, a question that didn't warrant an answer because it proved too annoying to hear. "God, you are _so_ annoying," he grumbled.

"Are _not_," Troy argued as he opened his back door and jumped down several steps toward his backyard basketball court.

"What are you, five? And are _too_."

And thus the conversation went for the next half an hour as Troy dribbled around the small court, trading sarcastic banter with what he should probably consider his new left leg from now on, Ryan. It would have turned ugly, if not for the agreement they made about playing nice. As it was, Ryan had to pull back his insults every now and then, as well as the urge to lunge across the court and tackle Troy. He was a nice person! Really! Excluding the presence of Troy Bolton, Ryan was the most amicable person anyone could be around.

"As an aside," Ryan interrupted Troy's next sentence. "You're out here wearing only boxers."

"I _know_."

"Oh do you?"

"It's my backyard. No one can see."

Ryan rolled his eyes. Naked men were a lot less easy to hate, as was his case. What they should be more worried about is if a neighbor saw the half-naked Troy arguing with himself. "_I_ can see you."

"You don't count."

As time wore on, and the sun reached its peak in the sky, Ryan grew more and more bored. Currently, he was sitting cross-legged on the paved ground, watching Troy make a basket nearly every shot. And with every swish of the ball going into the hoop, Ryan noticed Troy just getting sweatier and sweatier and that much more hot. How unfair was it that when Troy got sweaty, he became this monument of gleaming, hunky flesh? No one could be that perfect, could they?

"Troy, this is boring!"

"God, all you've do is complain."

"Well basketball is boring! What can I say?"

"Have you ever even played?

Had he ever played? What kind of question was that? Did Troy not remember the time he and Chad and hijacked the basketball from he and Sharpay and gave him a bloody lip from throwing the ball in his face? Accident it may have been, but it was also scarring. Ryan had not picked up a basketball since, fearing the safety of his face. "Yes. As a matter of fact, I have. When I was six."

The look Troy was giving him was one of shock mixed with slight amusement. "That doesn't count."

"Not many things count today, do they?"

"Come on," the sweat-covered boy beckoned his angel.

"Come on what?"

Troy gestured sharply for Ryan to come to him. "Come on. You have to take a shot."

"For what," Ryan asked incredulously.

"Just take a shot, and you'll see why I play so much."

"Yeah, right." He stood, brushing invisible dirt of his trousers. This was a stupid idea. He couldn't even touch the ball, let alone shoot it into a hoop. "How am I going to do this, genius? I can't even touch it."

Troy positioned Ryan in front of the hoop, a few feet behind the three-point line. "Here," he said standing behind the blond, his hard chest pressing against Ryan's clothed back. Troy's hands covered Ryan's, his fingers threading through the blond's to touch the basketball. "You hold it like this." He put Ryan's hands in the right spots, and adjusted the boy's arms. His breath ghosted across Ryan's neck, making him shiver with guilt. Guilt for the fact that he was touching Troy Bolton, and guilt for enjoying it.

"And now," Troy said, preparing Ryan for the shot. He followed through, forcing the boy to jump slightly with him as he aimed the ball into the hoop, and making it with a loud '_swish_'.

They were silent for a moment, as the ball bounced on the ground of its own accord and then into the grass where it rolled away. "See."

"Yeah, whatever," Ryan tried to say as unexcitedly as possible.

"Are you telling me you didn't feel the anticipation before shooting, confidant that you were going to make it. Accepting that whatever happens after you let the ball go, happens. The satisfaction when you heard that ball swish?"

In truth, Ryan did feel those things. Though it was a bit harder to describe than simple satisfaction and anticipation because it wasn't the ball going into the basket that did anything. It was Troy, standing behind him, touching him. He'd sooner _eat_ the basketball before he admitted that, however. Plus it sounded pervy. So he definitely couldn't say it.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Both boys looked to the doorway leading inside to find a young man with dark brown, wavy hair and the clearest, blue eyes one could have. His white shirt, although tucked in, was half-way unbuttoned, and the black suspenders attached to his pinstripe trousers hung off his hips, rather than being snug on his shoulders. In one hand, he held a clipboard and in the other was rested at his hip, in a bored stance.

"Jesus Christ," Troy yelled, tripping over himself and onto the ground.

"Alex?" It had been days since Ryan had seen the caseworker (technically a week and a half).

"We have to talk," the tall man said, ignoring the sputtering Troy.

- - - - - - - - - -

"Who are you?" Troy was sitting in his living room, now fully clothed in a t-shirt and jeans. "And how did you get into my house? And how can you see Ryan?"

"Ah, but it is not whether _I_ can see Ryan. It is that _you_ can see _me_. But that's neither here, nor there at this time." Alex stood in front of the two boys, his arms crossed, his clipboard still tightly clutched in one hand. "There's good news, and bad news," his statement was directed to the non-living of the duo.

There was always good news and bad news, wasn't there? Why couldn't Ryan just ever have a streak of good luck? Why couldn't something nice happen to him without being followed by some horrible event? "Lay it on me," he said casually. He wanted to get it over with quickly.

"The C.C.U. is up and running at full capacity once again," Alex announced without an ounce of cheer. It seems he too wanted to get things over with quickly, and get back to work. "Which means you have full use of the powers and abilities issued to every Class C Angel."

"Class—"

"Cherubim," Alex interjected before Ryan could ask. He continued, "As well as limited use of Class A angelic abilities, due to the special nature of your assignment."

"What does all this mean, Alex?" To say Ryan was confused was an understatement. He had been dispatched from the C.C.U. too fast to learn anything about the afterlife. At this point, he was going with the flow. What more could he do?

"Since I have a bit more time today, I can clarify everything."

Ryan nodded, sitting back in the couch next to Troy who looked even more befuddled than himself.

Alex began, "Those not assigned to a definite afterlife are drafted into the service, which means working for the Collective Consciousness of the Universe. Further, they are assigned a class that suits them the best," he said carefully moving around the room and examining family photos of the Boltons. "Before Troy, you were supposed to be a Seraph. To sing to and emanate the holiness of the One Mistress."

"I thought there wasn't any one god," Ryan asked.

"Don't interrupt," Alex admonished, which quickly shut the blond up. "Now, for reasons I am not of liberty to say, you are now considered Class C, with the gift of certain Class A abilities. And the good news is, that you are now allowed full access to these abilities, which are listed here," the caseworker pulled a sheet of paper from his clipboard and handed it to Ryan.

"The bad news?" Did he really want to hear this?

"You are connected to the system, but you aren't allowed back in. It seems after your little _accident_," Alex gave Troy a pointed look which made the boy blush with embarrassment, "You over-exerted our databases. In the process, some of your soul was fractured and expelled. _Meaning_," the man snapped his fingers at Ryan who had been caught up in reading his list of powers. "We've lost some of your memories. Since your soul is fractured, you're not allowed to enter our domain."

All this information was flooding Ryan's head and he couldn't make sense of any of it. He was speechless, for the first time in hours. But Alex did say they lost some of his memories. What did it all mean?

"Your data and therefore some of your memories, have been scattered. When you come into contact with something containing your data, you'll most likely have flashbacks to whatever memories it contains."

That must have been what he saw before he woke up. And that must be why he couldn't remember the past summer. Strangely, though, Ryan couldn't remember what he forgot, which made sense, he supposed. "Alex, this is too much."

"I know. And I'm sorry to have to lay this on top of you in addition to your charge, but you have to regain your full memory. That's all you have to understand. It's important." This situation was a bit much to give a new draftee to handle. However, Alex couldn't go against his orders even if he didn't understand or like them sometimes. Looking at Troy, Alex sighed. "Look, I have to go. I'll be back soon to talk about this in depth." The dark-haired man gave Troy a strange look, as if trying to size him up before furrowing his brow and looking the other way.

"Okay," Ryan sighed himself, and looked at Troy with a pout. Compared to this, life wasn't so complicated. Troy stared back at him with the same confused expression he'd been wearing for the past few minutes. When he turned back to Alex, he found no one there. It was annoying how the man could just pop in and out without warning. Maybe he'd learn to do that someday.

"So, I can do all this," Ryan held up his rather long list, showing it to his charge.

"Really?"

"Mhm. But it still doesn't make this situation any less trying."

- - - - - - - - - -

_Journeys always seem to be long, don't they Ryan? They seem to stretch endlessly before you. You'll see, though, that these things happen for a reason. Everything happens for a reason. Life is like a big puzzle that only ever fits together when you reach the end. And your end, is the beginning. _

- - - - - - - - - -

**God, finally! After months of waiting! Anyway, hope you liked it. Feel free to leave comments or anything. And I promise I won't make you wait this long again between updates! **


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